Daylight. A few feet away from Derek, Meredith curled closer into Lexie. At times, her concussion had made her intensely light-sensitive—supposed concussion, she kept insisting—but she didn't rouse. His wife was strong, incredibly strong, but her body was naturally small. She wasn't uninjured, not by a long shot, but she'd been the most able once Mark collapsed due to cardiac tamponade. Meredith had had to do a rugged pericardiocentesis to drain the fluid on his heart. In retrospect, Derek joining in on Yang's back-seat operating hadn't made that any easier; at least she was a cardiothoracic surgeon. But the patient had been Mark. Mark had almost never gone out into nature when he wasn't hunting Derek, and he wouldn't leave him there. The possibility didn't make sense. He'd taken dozens of hits to the chest in the hockey rink and on the football field. It had been too much to think that this would be the time he couldn't walk off the field.

He'd taken a rock to his wrist to free himself from a pile of debris. Except for the fire around him, it had been nothing compared to the predicament Lexie was in. Meredith had had to hop specialties again to do damage control. With all the procedures he'd walked her through, he'd never seen anything like the miserable fear in her eyes as she'd poked that metal through his skin. The pain of having his nerves touched without anesthesia didn't go as deeply. That night, trying to tell her he was impressed, he'd been cut off by a snap about Cristina operating on him at gunpoint.

He'd come to hearing Robbins screaming while Meredith cleaned her leg, preparing to set it, and Yang tried to comfort her. He, Meredith, and Cristina had combed the area, searching for their jackets, phones, even locating a first-aid kit. He'd done all he could to direct the creation of a metal sled they could use to move Robbins and the pilot's body, over to Lexie, but every movement brought another surge of pain.

The days following had all had their own challenges, but almost any conversation circled around to levering the metal off of Lexie's lower half. She'd been caught under what seemed to be a piece of wing about the size of the door, which lay within feet of her. Crushed muscles created toxins, and while it stayed in place, they were contained. It could also have been keeping torn vessels from bleeding out. Leaving it on too long would strain her system in other ways, while chemicals leeched into it. Yesterday, near sunset, her vitals had started to fall. Meredith had revealed the water bottle she'd hidden for that moment, already dosed with a saline tablet to keep anyone from gulping it down, and monitored her sister for rhabdomyolysis until her own muscles had given up.

He'd been relieved.

On their first full day, she'd collapsed on a search for running water. He'd known she was pushing herself, but he'd been caught up in his injury, and keeping Mark down, and he hadn't thought. She'd spent the end of day zero searching for the first-aid kit, and wanted to make a torch to keep looking past dark. Having the idea vetoed made her keep going until the last hint of light left the sky. He'd been a minute from getting Yang to help him frog-march her to the fire when a shout of triumph rang out through the night. He got her to lie down once she'd itemized the bag with a red cross on the side, and exploded over the lack of sutures. The next day, Yang gone exploring first, while Meredith complained about the kit having saline tablets, but not water. Lexie had rasped that even those weren't actually standard according to ATA guidelines, which she'd read while crushing on a boy who took flying lessons. An incredible annoying little sister moment that also meant she was holding on.

(He'd looked over at Mark, almost wanting to shake him awake just to hear him laugh at a comment about how they'd officially be the cool uncles to Skywalker from this point on. Every time he spoke to his teenage nephew, he expected his ambitions to have changed, but Lucas had wanted to be a pilot since the days when he'd been small enough to play Airplane, balancing on someone's feet and beimg lifted into the air with his arms out. Derek had worried when the service entered his hypotheticals, but Mom had dissuaded the younger generation more explicitly than his—A mixture of not having to pay their tuition, and a tight smiled 'I support the troops' attitude that got stronger with each war.)

After Yang returned carrying a bag of possibly useful detritus, Meredith had set out in a different direction. Rare hikes in the Berkshires did not an outdoorswoman make, but she was the one most likely to be able to pick out a sound among the dozens of unfamiliar noises. He had the dubious benefit of Scouts, being bussed out of the city a few times a year to "orienteer" in the woodsy area of a camp where water was never further than an eleven-year-old could manage. Bowdoin had had plenty of nature on offer, all of it based around the coast. With those experiences and the trail she'd left, he'd been just capable of tracking her to the brook she'd found before giving in to the dizziness she admitted to all morning. He shouldn't have let her go. He should've thought to check her for concussion; this wasn't a situation where she'd been likely to report symptoms.

She'd kept track of Lexie's, almost obsessively. By the second day, the younger Grey had been mostly delirious with pain, calling it out for Susan, and then Thatcher. The lullabies Arizona sang almost to herself, could sometimes settle her, but for the most part only Meredith's voice got her back to sleep. Mark had been fretful, but couldn't stay awake long enough to do much more than that.

Through the nights, Meredith's body shook constantly from the cold and hunger. The last one had been the worst. After working on Lexie with only the weak firelight to guide her, she'd given up on hiding how badly her head hurt. He, a goddamned neurosurgeon, could do nothing productive, only hold her, when she'd let him, and try to be one step ahead of her attempts to foresee Lexie's needs.

There was wind. It blew leaves and dirt onto them. He lifted his head to make sure Mark and Lexie's mouths were covered with the oxygen masks; though, he couldn't remember the last time they'd changed the canisters, or if they'd been the last ones.

A heavier wind picked up Meredith's hair. She didn't stir. His pulse started to speed up. He willed her to bat away the twigs being tangled into it. A reflex would let him convince himself the noise had carried a word of complaint.

It wasn't wind. Wind howled. (Wolves howled.) This was the roar of a motor coming down in bursts, chopped up by the blade of a helicopter.

He asked Dad why they called it a chopper. He didn't understood why his parents didn't buy him many toys that resembled the war that brought them together; why they turned off the funny new show that fascinated Derek, where guys like Mom fixed soldiers like Dad. He gathered all of them around the electric fan in his office, and showed them how speaking to the blades cut up the soundwaves. Eighteen-month-old Amy had been so entertained that they'd moved it into the living room and let it make silly sounds sillier wherever she cried.

They needed to get a fan. To show Zola. They needed to show her so much.

He stopped playing with his model Huey when he noticed it made Dad quiet, while he usually helped him crash his cars and send his train all over the house.

Could he keep her from ever getting on a plane?

Arizona caught the paramedics attention first. She pointed them toward the body. Jerry Saunders, according to the ID they found in his wallet. In his periphery, Meredith pushed up on her elbows, (Thank God.) holding up the plastic trash bag taped to Lexie's makeshift catheter. He hoped the brown tinge was dirt stuck to the outside.

The male paramedic came, and he heard the rasp of his wife's voice saying, "My sister. Crushed. Salin'infusion. AKI. Spinal…." She clutched Lexie's hand until the younger woman had been moved onto a gurney, still duct-taped to their makeshift backboard.

Cristina dodged the EMTs trying to get her onto a gurney, jabbing her finger at Mark. His eyes were open. When his lips moved, the paramedic's mouth formed a surprised circle. Awake and flirting. Derek let out a heavy breath. They were going to get out of here. They were going to get home to their daughters.

He wanted to have been sure the whole time. He was the optimistic one. The one who'd promised his wife that their baby would be home, trying to make up for his depleting faith in a system had taken her from them. Here, telling her he had a feeling they'd be all right had seemed to comfort her more than last year's feigned certainty, but she had more reasons to trust him this time.

How much of his positivity came from having Mark by his side saying, "Hey, man, we've got this," and, by being as diligent as he'd seemed laidback, proven it to be true? His bravery was built exploit-by-exploit, each starting with "Hey, Shep, you know what we should do?" and ending "Dude, can you believe we pulled that off?" From being the proverbial kids playing in a construction site that they always cited in segments about the origins of Sesame Street to teenage nerds wanting to believe they were cool to using med school as caché at bars full of eighties supermodels, that'd been the situation. (How did Mom not go insane, knowing a third of it?) He knew who he became without Mark, and that guy had almost lost everything else that was good in his life.

With Lexie's warmth removed, Meredith had started to shiver again. He raised his head, trying to catch the paramedic's attention. They might be annoyed by having their patients triaging themselves, but they needed to take her and wrap her in—Wait. Her shivers were small, quick movements that went from chattering teeth to trembling legs. This shuddering was confined to her shoulders. He clenched his teeth, hoping it muffled his groans enough to keep them from her; moving his left arm hurt as though he'd shoved it in the remnants of the fire he'd walked her through starting.

He dragged himself close enough to swipe his fingertips over her arm. She turned her head toward him, slowly. Her face was as dirty as theirs all were, but clean streaks ran along her cheeks. He balanced on the point of his elbow to trace the slope of her nose, which was as red as the inflamed cut on her forehead. "Mer."

Tears hung on the lashes of her lowered eyes. He moved his hand to her shoulder, inching closer. This made her raise her head, shaking it. "Stay put. M'okay." She sniffed, lifting her hand and dragging it over her face. "It's done. I…I wanna go home…want our baby…."

"We're going, precious girl. It'll be over soon."

The paramedics were approaching them. Behind the wavering scrims in her eyes, he could see her deciding to let him keep his delusion. Maybe to let herself have it.

Her kiss was salty with tears. If she could've used them to keep them provided with IV fluids, she would've let herself cry from the beginning. Instead, they'd been blocked until the helicopter lifted a weight off of her.

"Pick her up first," he instructed the paramedics when they appeared with two more gurneys. Catching her eye-roll gave him the strength he needed to get himself upright with minimal help. Without the vibrations from the ground, he could hear her abruptly trying to swallow her sobs. Her gaze was fixed, and he followed it to Cristina, standing next to an empty gurney, a blanket over her shoulders, her expression completely blank. He put his hand on his face momentarily to keep either of them from reading it. Whatever Meredith was thinking, it stemmed from the competition between them that should've stayed in the workplace. When they weren't pitted against each other explicitly anymore, it would only get more personal. With him and Mark to judge by, it'd only take them thirty-something more years to get over.

Meredith's gurney was moved closer to his as their rescuers began loading them onto the helicopter. He caught her hand, and she laced her fingers through his, promising, "Won't lose you again."

"You found me." Pretending her ensuing protest had been destroyed by the propeller, he added, "I'll do anything it takes to get to you." She grimaced, her eyes rising toward the wrist propped on his chest. "You're worth extraordinary measures."

Her smile was the brightest light he'd seen in days.

Meredith wasn't sure she'd ever realized beeping monitors could be this intrusive. Sitting hunched over in the stereotypically uncomfortable chair, every beep made her flinch, and every flinch made her muscles throb. It was amazing how much could atrophy through days spent sprawled on cold, unforgiving dirt, rising only to check the vital signs of the person lying next to her. Her body's protests hadn't stopped her checking more than necessary, certain that this time—this time—Lexie's pulse would have stopped, and she would have no way to bring it back. No way to save the little sister to whom she owed twenty-two years of protection.

The heart monitor beeped again. Zola nuzzled against her neck, still fast asleep. She'd been that way since Meredith made a nurse bring them into Lexie's room. The needle going into the top of her other hand pulled a little. She tugged at the IV tubing to allow for more give, and leaned forward to tighten her grip on Lexie's hand.

"We do this too much." Her voice came in a hoarse whisper. She'd been in exactly this spot watching over her sleeping sister in those unstable days after the shooting. She'd thought it was difficult to sleep on one of Seattle Grace's roll-out cots, anxious at leaving Derek at home alone for the first time, but grateful for the break from hiding the emptiness he'd known nothing about. "It's not even my turn. We got out," she added, more to herself than her sister. "We survived. You can't survive in the woods and not make it out of Boise, Lex. That's tacky."

That phrase belonged to advising her little sister on a pair of silver boots too gaudy for a night out, or wallpaper for the house she'd inevitably buy with Mark, or any of a million little things. The Grey sisters needed some little things to deal with for a while.

Zola let out a tiny sigh, and Meredith pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She was their little thing, the best little thing. She'd gotten Lexie to smile when Jackson chose Mark, and Lexie realized she wanted to chose him, too. In the months it'd taken her to act on it, her face lit up most for Zola.

Time passed. Meredith had no idea how much. It was harder to measure without the sun beating down overhead, then being shoved aside by the chilling, relentless darkness. The change was the degree of pain coursing through her. Pain that meant she was alive. Pain that was nothing compared to anyone else on the plane's.

There was a strange blue cast in this hospital, giving everything an eerie, aqueous feel. The personnel who moved through the hallways at a more leisurely pace than anyone ever did at Seattle Grace. What would it be like to work at a hospital that wasn't constantly inundated by emergencies? Less stressful. Peaceful, maybe. Boring, on the whole. Derek would really hate it. No one with an untreatable tumor would take notice of the guy in Iowa. She'd get a lot of practice with bread-and-butter procedures, maybe a few GSWs a year. Nothing fancy. Nothing that would've benefited them out there.

She resettled Zola, putting her weight on one leg to feel it grounding her.

Quick footsteps approached the door; they have to belong to someone from Seattle. Meredith sat up, ready to fight to stay where she was.

Richard paused in the doorway, blocking out the painfully bright light. "Any change?"

A beep answered him. Meredith flinched. Richard's mouth contorted with concern, and she raised her chin, daring him to try to move her. She'd fight. She'd fight like Cristina had, keeping them alive through the last stretch. Monitoring Lexie after Meredith's strength failed. She'd done all she could to prevent crush syndrome, irrigating with a steam of urine coming from a Ziploc with a hole poked into it, packing with cloth, binding with seatbelt straps. If Meredith had been the only one with her, it would've been for nothing. She'd have woken up to the roar of the helicopter, but her sister…her sister would've been dead.

They'd put her on a vent here due to low pulse-ox measurements, and she'd be in for many more surgeries. Under the sheet, her abdomen was packed, the team of surgeons determining she needed to stabilize before they continued.

A little more than a day had passed since they'd levered the chunk of fuselage off of Lexie—and discovered her phone, dutifully turned off, hadn't been crushed. Prior to that, there'd been two and a half days for her body to try to heal. The surgeons had had to regress some of that. The lead had praised Meredith's interventions, but to her they'd been conservative. Not what she could've done with proper instruments, or even just lap pads. Nothing that could've reduced the brain injury now keeping her unconscious.

Again, she looked to Lexie's face. To the tangles in her brown hair. To the upward curve of her nose. To all the facial features Meredith had become familiar with over the past four years, and the few that she shared.

"Do you have Thatcher's number? I should've…. I guess they left her phone out there. It happened so fast. The end, I mean. And the beginning."

The edge of Richard's hand rested on the lump on the back of her head. It'd been long enough since she'd had anything but fluids going into her IV that she could hardly keep herself from wincing away. Instead, she leaned in a little, brushing against his hip.

"I'll take care of Thatch."

"You've already spoken to him."

"I thought he deserved to know two of his daughters were missing. He asked if he should come out here, but we decided with you as her medical proxy, it'd be best for him to hang back."

"How hard did he object to that?"

Richard's hand moved to her shoulder, squeeing gently. "We didn't anticipate... That she's alive in this condition is extraordinary, Meredith.

"I…I should've been telling you this at a celebration that you've earned ten times over, but you've proven once again that any hospital that has you on staff will be incredibly fortunate. Watching you take on one challenge after another for the past five years wasn't always easy. You've faced an incredible amount of adversity. Not only did you learn from failures, you held onto the lessons of your successes. You go above and beyond for your coworkers, with an amount of loyalty and compassion that isn't always seen in our profession.

"You shouldn't have had to make the decisions you did out there, or follow through on them yourself. Whatever happens in the next few weeks, I want you to remember that if you hadn't been as skilled and as caring as you are, Thatcher would likely be facing another tragedy. If I were him, I would be incredibly grateful."

"She's gonna need his support." Her voice sounded like she'd sanded off another layer. "Derek and I, we'll do whatever we can; whatever she wants us to, but we…. She's gonna need him."

She'd thought Thatcher couldn't disappoint her more than he had the day she'd rung his doorbell, but she still would've expected him to come through for his real daughters. He hadn't done anything to change her mind—it was getting to know him that made her unsure.

"I'll brief him on what her recovery could look like. Bailey is seeing about getting privileges here for the morning, since she's not going to be stable enough to leave first thing."

She nodded, her body suddenly twice as heavy. Forget this being the end. The beginning wasn't over.

"Derek and Mark are still in surgery," he added. "The other ladies sleeping more or less soundly. You ought to get some rest, too."

Part of her wished he'd order her. That he'd give into the hint of authority that had nothing to do with him being her boss. If they moved to Boston, would he—Lexie's monitor beeped again. Okay. She wasn't going to think about that. Not until she'd seen more scans.

"I should," she agreed. He waited for a beat, and then lifted his hand.

"The other night, I was prepared to tell you that I'd never be prouder of a student. It felt true, but I should've known you'd prove me wrong. I'm infinitely more proud now than I was then"

She waited for his hand to come down again. When she realized he was walking to the door and said, "thank you," it sounded perfunctory. She squinted at his silhouette in the blinding hall light, but he didn't turn back. Off to call Thatch, she guessed. She'd never heard him use the nickname, but they'd reportedly been friends, once. Maybe there were benefits to détente. The night he'd confronted her about Richard's drinking had been one of the least passive conversations she'd had with Thatcher. At what point did how long you'd known someone outweigh what they'd done to you?

Why Richard and not her?

She lowered her forehead to rest between the two bunches in Zola's hair. She could feel something sharp lurking in her temples. It added a layer of urgency to her thoughts. She'd call a nurse before going to check on the others. She needed to be alert when Derek got out of surgery, to see what they were saying about Cristina, and maybe talk to Arizona, with Callie there. Her allusions to Alex "making" her get on the plane needed to be addressed while they were on the surface, before they became burrowed and bitter.

She didn't move. She would stay as long as she could, holding her little thing, and watching over her sister. Clinging to what she had. What she'd almost lost.

~!

"I don't want this kid to feel unsafe, Teddy. Obviously, I'm not revoking her acceptance. I'm just not sure if there's more I should be doing. Logistics are already going to be a mess for the foreseeable future."

"It's not up to you."

"Well…well, no, but…. Security hasn't been upgraded in two years. There might be something that isn't as cumbersome as that system we tossed."

"How are you going to get that by the board?"

"I…."

"You're not Major Hunt, here. You're not her superior, you're her employer. You've got to treat this like any other time someone, usually a woman, goes by one name in med school, and wants to change that before she starts publishing, and collecting patients."

"It's not that—"

"She moved across the country. She left everything behind, including her identity—put herself in witness protection. She wants to be a surgeon that badly. I understand where your heart is, Owen. You want to keep someone safe, but drawing attention to her won't help."

"I just…I've seen it go poorly, and I….I…. They put them on a helicopter, Teddy, and the whole trip out here, I kept imagining…. It's not the same at all. Cristina's coming home, and I... She was leaving me. What right do I have to be—?"

"Every right. If she'd been in Minnesota, you'd have known where she was! Not knowing…. I knew where Allison was when the North Tower was hit, and I was much better off than people whose loved ones…and friends were below the 93rd floor. Your sister was my friend, and I wonder where she is every day. If she's scared, or starving…. It's been worse for you and Ri—"

"Yeah, Zola, that is Elmo on that backpack!"

"You cheated on Cristina, so if that's what you're holding against him…. If this changes her plans, you should look into bringing in someone with more experience than Russell to oversee her fellowship."

"If Miss Zola goes to Boston, I'm going to need several newattendings."

"Think they will? That's a long trip, after this."

"Shepherd drove here from New York, originally. His ex-wife flew, when she showed up without warning and confronted him in the lobby."

"Had he unlisted himself, made her think he'd taken a job in Florida, and cancelled all his credit cards? Had he cut off everyone he knew, or did their shared mentor call her?"

"Fair point. Honestly, I'm kind of surprised they didn't want him or Bailey to fly with Zola."

"Why? You might as well be her godfather."

"I think if she has a godfather, it's Webber. Otherwise, I don't know how they categorize him."

"Uncle 'Grandma's Ex-Lover' would be awkward. Seriously, though, I've never heard of him babysitting. Sofia definitely knows you better. She and Callie are on the same flight, aren't they?"

"My pal Sofia is right here. Her mama went to get them Auntie Anne's half an hour ago, so... Not a problem. These two get along better than some siblings I've known, and I think Torres needed time on her own. Robbins's leg is…. Best practice would be to amputate, but….

"They fought a battle out there, and don't want it to follow them home. Shepherd's wrist would be an honorable discharge. Cristina has classic shell-shock—"

"And the best possible person on her side."

"I wasn't that person last time."

"You were there for her. She'd had to face the possibility of losing you. Now, you're the one she knows will be there. You always come through. Even when it's as simple as her being asked to watch either of her goddaughters—"

"She reads to them. Teaches them body parts. Right? Sofia, where's your ribcage? Oh, is Zola tickling you? Zo, she said 'no,' hands to—Thank you! That's very nice."

"Aw, see? I hadn't heard her say 'Uncle Owen' before."

"It's new. I, uh, I wasn't sure I'd get to be that. Megan wasn't on a steady path toward settling down. I did imagine my kids having an Auntie M."

"If you ever call Grey or Meg that, it needs to be filmed. No, call them Aunties M&M. Tell them it stands for Morbidity and Mortality. They'd both love it."

"That's a terrifying idea."

"I hope you get to do it one day."

"Unless Cristina changes her mind, I'm not sure Grey would want to be—"

"Owen, you don't have to know her long to learn that adultery isn't her thing, but it seems to me that unless youtake off to embed yourself somewhere no one knows you—"

"I didn't…."

"If they hadn't made you finish out your tour, would I have seen you again?"

"Yeah, of course,… It might…might've taken time."

"Thank you for your honesty."

"You deserve it. You always have."

"I know."

"Uh…I called Mom. Yesterday, and the day…once I'd notified the nexts-of-kin who weren't missing, too."

"I'm proud of you. Did you update the Rubensteins?"

"I did. Surprised they're not there yet."

"They might be. I'm sorting crap for the movers. I'll take Sloan back as soon as they land. Scans look decent, considering. Grey has good hands."

"Mention it to her. Boise was…concerned."

"Boise's experience with field medicine comes from actual fields."

"That an insult?"

"I meant it as one."

"She closed Shepherd's wrist with a pin, and that's nothing compared to all she did for Little Grey. You have a talented mommy, Zola…. Yeah, we'll see her soon. Mommy and Daddy are on a special plane so they can nap. Not that you can't— Not no—Yes nap! Yes nap!"

"Tell him, girls! Not nap! Not nap!"

"Yes, nap! Yes, nap! Aunt Teddy is not helping."

"Uncle Owen walked into this one."

"Can you hear? They have three other kids chanting. Zola started an insurrection. Hold on, I need to video this, and then find a new place to sit."

"Her parents will be so proud."

"They should be. When you think she's only been home, what, eight months?"

"Seven."

"Oh…. Teddy, I'm…."

"It's just the truth. The world turns. Henry died; their baby came home. Your wife is coming home. They all are. It's probably good that I'm leaving. One less person for you to take care of."

"That's not what you are."

"It has been. It's okay. I'm going to let you go."

"Okay, yeah, they're going to call our flight soon, anyway. I should track down Torres."

"Oh. Yeah. Just…Owen? Look after yourself."

"Don't worry, I've got two little ladies watching me very closely."

"I'm serious."

"So'm I. They help boost morale, don't you? I'd be surprised if getting back to them didn't motivate everyone out there. You think about what's important in situations like that. Grey wouldn't let Zola go until she passed out.

"Yeah, Sofi, that is your mama. Let's go see her, okay? Callie, over here! Thanks for listening, Teddy."

"Of course. I'll see you when you get ho—here."